Gone
by eattaholic
Summary: The piano was smeared with blood, but Midorima insisted to keep playing for a certain frivolous, beautiful idol who lived just next door.


**Inspired by an AU fic where Takao was a singer and Midorima went to one of his autograph session for the sake of his lucky item; Takao's newest album. And he actually listened to and enjoyed the songs (and wouldn't admit it to anyone).**  
><strong>This was written so long ago I forgot the fic, if anyone knows please kindly tell me! enjoy~<strong>

**(All the usual disclaimer apply, though I'd be delighted to own these basketball babies3)**

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><p>"Fuck. Fuck. <em>Fuck,<em>" each curse was completely foreign on his tongue and familiar in his ears. Midorima Shintarou vowed to never curse, but looking at the way things now, nothing could describe his fucked up situation better than cursing.

His glasses were nowhere to be found, leaving a lingering weight on the bridge of his nose and above the shell of his ears. His failing eyesight worsened due to his wound; a two-inches gash on his left forehead, just a bit above his brow which was oozing blood, making his mind fuzzy as well as blinding his sight by his own blood. Midorima pressed the wound with his handkerchief and hissed when it came contact with torn skin and raw flesh. He figured that the blood would stop if he applied some pressure to the wound. It didn't.

Midorima continued to walk on this all-too-familiar empty corridor— He silently thanked God because the school was empty because he couldn't really explain how he got that wound on his head; or maybe Oha-Asa because the lucky item for Cancer today was a bobby pin. It didn't take him long after entering the main hall did his dizziness worsen, his leg threatening to give up beneath him. Midorima squinted; his left hand went to fix the position of his glasses— he thought the gesture would clear his vision out of habit— only to come back bloody.

_There's no use to clean all the mess now,_ Midorima sighed while glaring indignantly at his bloody fingers. Instead he focused on reaching the practice room in the end of the hall; the room where he always practiced his piano pieces until they were nothing but perfection. The room where he met the rising pop-singer Takao Kazunari for the first— _second,_ but it was unlikely for Midorima to admit it— time, and it was the only room that had a window instead of being the usual sound-proofed room like any other rooms in the music school.

Midorima opened the door to the room gingerly, while carelessly imprinting his stained fingerprints on the handle. His vision became blurry, his consciousness was just barely hanging there and like those lame-ass movie Takao had forced him to watch he saw flashes of memories swirling before him as he gazed to his surroundings; the familiar white wall, those wooden furniture full of stacks of music sheets and a jar of sweets (Takao's), the polished black grand piano in the middle of the room (with seats barely enough for two—but not that Midorima minded), the white framed window with a thin, almost translucent curtain in similar color hung over it. All of this room was a part of his memories with Takao.

He remembered when Takao came back to the same room the second time to hide from his rabid fan girls and to hear his Shin-chan played his songs on the piano again. When Midorima reluctantly (but didn't actually rejected) agreed on Takao's request to write a song for him (He even remembered that knowing smirk on his face— and the twinkle in his eyes— when Midorima insisted that it was only because he had nothing better to do. _That jerk_. Midorima thought, but let a slight smile graced his lips).

_Did that mean that he's dying, though; with all the memory flashing and stuff?_ His wound throbbed as he thought so.

He remembered when their lips first came to touch, how jittery and how awkward it was, but the two of them was too caught in the moment to care. He remembered the first time he thought that Takao was pretty (well, he was an idol so of course he was pretty) and made fun of by the said person when he accidentally let the word to slip. (_Puhaha Shin-chan you're such a cheese-ball! I know, okay? Everyone told me that every day. But thanks anyway._ And he gave Midorima a sloppy peck on the lips.)

Fuck, they could have so much tomorrows together but all of this; all this experience, this life with a frivolous, beautiful, perfect, and not to mention; _annoying _Idol had to end, like right _now._ Midorima clenched his fist so hard his palm began to bleed and his nails were digging back to the fingers, which was a world-shattering action because Midorima took extreme care for his fingers, because he was a _piano freak_, Takao would say. And _yes, yes he was_. But he would chop off all his fingers if they were what it took for Takao to never leave him. He couldn't live without someone in particular called him Shin-chan! and made fun of him every day. He had fallen _that_ hard.

Midorima staggered to open the window, glancing longingly at another window in the building adjacent to the school building while letting the breeze caressed his face. He knew exactly where Takao's dorm room was, and he hoped that the song reached through. He could hear faint sounds of car engines from outside.

_There's no time._

Midorima was unlucky when his father found out about their relationship. Cancer was at rock bottom, and he didn't manage to find his lucky item of the day, and his father decided that it was unsightly for the heir of Midorima Industries to engage in a relationship with someone of the same sex and not-so-appealing bloodline. He was unlucky when he hurt himself when he tried to escape from his bedroom window in his three-story mansion. He was unlucky to have his father's attendant hot in his trail to bring him home. But he had to find Takao.

He just _had_ to.

His fingers were trembling and bloody when he brought them upon the polished white keys, and smeared them in red as he played the song he never managed to finish. We could have so much tomorrows together. His fingers dancing in frenzy, leaving a crimson red paint that would last for eternity, and Midorima almost felt that Takao was listening and giggling. Maybe he would say _Shin-chan is such a cheese-ball_ and kissed him but Midorima would be _gone_ before that happened.

Midorima felt his consciousness drifting away when he heard the sound of footsteps looming over him.


End file.
